


Away From You

by vianne78



Series: Danae - Shorts and Drabbles [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers, Triple Drabble, Unresolved Romantic Tension, both sides of the story, thieves guild spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:15:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vianne78/pseuds/vianne78
Summary: Danae and Vorstag find that being apart is surprisingly hard. For both of them.





	1. Something Comes Up

The Guild thieves were masters in blending in with the shadows, so finding Rune suddenly crouching next to them by the fire one night had not really surprised them that much.

Well, Danae was used to it, and if Vorstag wasn’t, he had hid it flawlessly.

“He needs to know how soon you can meet him in Irkngthand,” Rune said, after kissing her hello. Danae sighed regretfully, though she had known to expect a word from Brynjolf. 

Rune looked at her with serious eyes. “Mercer betrayed the Guild, and everyone in it. And he killed you. Tried his damndest to, anyway. If anyone deserves to die, it’s him.”

“I know. And I agree. But it’ll not be easy, not even for Bryn. Or Karliah. Tell him I’ll be there by Morndas.”  
“Very well.”  
“Would you stay for supper? We just caught a deer.”  
“I wish. I needed to be back yesterday,” Rune chuckled, and leaned to kiss Danae again. “Be safe, sister. Give him hell.” And then he vanished.

Danae couldn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t sigh because she’d have to hunt down and kill Mercer Frey. She wanted to do that. She wanted to very much.   
She had sighed, because it was something she would have to do without Vorstag.


	2. Waiting For Her

“I’ll see you soon, then.”   
She touched his arm softly, and then she was gone. 

For the longest time, Vorstag didn’t move.  
She said it’d take a few weeks. That’s all.   
He knew she could take care of herself. A few weeks was nothing. And now he would have plenty of time to visit home, if you could call Markarth that.   
He’d have time to drink with his friends. Swap stories. He wouldn’t even have time to notice she wasn’t there. Or to think about her.

Finally he turned to begin his journey alone, dragging his feet like a petulant child. It felt like something important was missing, and he didn’t like the feeling.

On his way, he passed many places he had seen with her, vividly bringing back everything they had already been through.

Seeing Markarth, he remembered how much she hated the place. 

Just around that bend was the waterfall, where he had truly seen her for the first time.

In Silver-Blood Inn, he sat again in his usual seat by the fire, the very same one he had sat in when they had first met.

He was home, surrounded by his comrades, an ale in his hand, and somehow she kept invading his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on everything else.   
Anything else. But nothing seemed to work.

Women started to visit the Inn. Word of his return had spread.   
He’d always been quite popular with the ladies, and looked like he still was.   
Some of them he had spent time with before. Some were new.

His friends joked and laughed, clapped his shoulders and enjoyed the extra company immensely. Vorstag joked and laughed with them, but none of the pretty wenches caught his eye.   
They did try, some of them even very hard, but something had changed, and night after night, he went to bed alone. He told himself it was only because he needed to be ready to go at any time, when she returned.   
_If_ she returned, whispered a little voice in the back of his head, and made a cold seed of dread try to plant itself in the pit of his stomach.

By the end of the third week he had heard all the stories. Knew all the latest gossip.  
Had learned the new names and visited one or two fresh graves.  
It was a busy night at the Inn, bards singing, conversations and laughter filling the air, and as usual, he was in the middle of his friends attempting to get lucky with some girls, who in turn kept simpering at him.

Vorstag was bored out of his mind.  
Out of habit, he picked up bottles of ale and drank. Laughed, when his friends made jokes.  
And all the while, also out of habit, his eyes were roaming the room.  
Scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

He’d been doing it for weeks so routinely he missed her at first.   
When he registered what he had seen and looked back to where the hint of silver had been just seconds before, there was nothing. Just the regular patrons. 

He shook his head and glanced at the bottle in his hand, frowning. He was seeing things. Maybe he should go easier on the drinks.   
But when he raised his eyes again, she was there.

She was right there, standing in front of him. His head was spinning a little.   
He was suddenly painfully aware that the way the unfamiliar, sleek armor hugged her body was drawing the attention of everyone around them, and as she lowered her black hood, revealing her hair of spun silver, his friends voices halted altogether. Among this crowd, she was unusual and exquisite, beautiful like a vision, and just as untouchable. 

He was drinking in the sight of her. She smiled that familiar dazzling smile, and he grinned back, and didn’t care one bit if he looked like an excited whelp.

“Of course she had to be Vorstag’s. How’s this fair? Why are they always his”, someone close by groaned.   
“More like I’m hers,” he corrected mildly, his eyes never wavering from her, still grinning.  
The ladies around them were sulking, but he hardly noticed and cared even less.

He took the hand she had extended to him.   
He was barely on his feet when she was in his arms, hugging him fiercely and far too briefly. He was having none of that. He laughed and lifted her off her feet in a bear hug, holding her a good while longer. Her hair smelled sweet and fresh, like flowers and summer rain.

“Ready?” She asked when he finally let her go, looking up at him, the smile still playing on her lips, only softer now.  
“Am I ever.”

Her small, warm hand stayed in his as she led him toward the door. He threw a parting glance over his shoulder, laughing again at the victory signs and whoops he got.  
She was worth all the juicy, and undoubtedly very inventive gossip they were leaving behind.


	3. Back To You

Walking away from him that day had been devastating.   
To keep her emotions from showing, she had only quickly squeezed his arm, when all she had really wanted to do was to be in his arms and never let go. Then she had turned and left. 

At first she had to concentrate on every step just to keep going, but because she had the lives of others - Brynjolf and Karliah - to worry about, as well as her own, focusing on the mission had been easier than she had feared. 

Vorstag often teased her about her mammoth-sized hero streak. Maybe he had a point.

Sleeping was another thing completely. The whole time, he was in every dream she had.   
She dreamed of being back together with him.   
She dreamed of losing him, that he died or left or simply disappeared, and she never found him again. Those times she woke up grasping her thundering heart, earning questioning looks from her companions.   
And some nights she dreamed of doing...other things with him, and woke up flushed, aching. 

The weeks flew by, and simultaneously lasted months.  
Three weeks later she was making her way to Silver-Blood Inn. Back to him.   
Funny. So much had happened, but she felt no different.   
She missed him terribly. She was jittery and impatient, anxious, too. Afraid he would rather stay at home than join her again.   
She was still just a girl in love, and saving the Guild or being a Nightingale didn’t make it one bit easier.

Through the crowd she saw him immediately, sitting in his usual place by the fire.   
Her stomach did a slow flip looking at him. 

He was even more handsome than she remembered.   
His golden brown hair was gleaming in the light when he tucked some strands behind his ear.   
He was smiling, but the smiles seemed subdued somehow and didn’t quite reach his brandy-colored eyes.   
That full mouth of his was still so tempting. 

He was surrounded by his friends, other warriors - and quite a few women.   
Beautiful, robust Nord women, with their blonde braids and flirty touches.

Oh, how seeing them vexed her! The intensity of the emotion was almost frightening.   
She pressed her palm against her burning stomach, berating herself harshly. He was as free as a dragon to do precisely as he pleased, with whomever he wanted.   
Her unrequited feelings did not make him accountable to her in any way.

In the shadow by the wall, next to invisible in her blessed armor, she witnessed him drinking and laughing with his company, brushing off advances from the girls (which considerably eased the burning in her gut), and occasionally glancing around. 

It took her a while to realize the glances were not casual - he was keeping an eye on the crowd. Her stomach did another slow flip. Was he looking for something?   
Was he... looking for her?

Next time he did the scan, she stepped away from the shadow to give him a glimpse.   
A test of sorts, a glimpse far too short for him to register, unless he really was looking for her.

First he appeared to look right through her, past her. Then he visibly jolted, and his eyes snapped back to where she had been standing, searching frantically.   
That was the reaction she had hoped for.   
When he couldn’t see her anymore, he frowned mournfully at the bottle in his hand, and she suppressed a giddy giggle, sneaking in front of him.   
He looked up.

The look on his face was enough to stop the burn and make butterflies flutter inside her instead. He looked dazed, almost adoring, and when she lowered her hood, he gave her a look that made her knees weak again.   
She could feel everyone’s eyes on them and didn’t care.   
She smiled, and his answering grin was so familiar, boyish and happy.  
“Of course she had to be Vorstag’s. How’s this fair? Why are they always his”, one of his friends close by groaned.   
“More like I’m hers,” Vorstag said, but didn’t look away, like wanting to make sure she didn’t vanish, and she felt warm all over. She gave him her hand, and he took it. 

When he rose, she hugged him for just a moment, for just long enough to feel his warmth. His big, solid body against hers. To hear his heart thud just once against her ear.   
Just as she was letting him go, he laughed and picked her up, wrapping his arms firmly around her, holding her a while longer.   
She indulged herself, burying her nose on his neck - the skin smelled warm and familiar, his hair of the soap she had made him.  
When he finally set her down, she almost kissed him, but caught herself just in time.   
She asked instead if he was ready, and he was. He always was.   
He didn’t let go of her hand until they made it to the stables.


End file.
